


Ivy League

by kyallu



Category: Circle of Magic - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Forum: Goldenlake, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyallu/pseuds/kyallu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are more plants in the world, in odder places, than Niva appreciated. [A glimpse of Rosethorn at Lightsbridge]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ivy League

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Fief Goldanlake's 2011 Wishing Tree.

Life could be very strange sometimes. Niva had resigned herself, not without bitterness, to the very air at Lightsbridge being still and dead, the lifeblood of dry, dusty things that were so old that they'd be forgotten anywhere else. (Lightsbridge's records were too meticulous.) She was becoming used to nursing her manifold grievances against Winding Circle, for sending her to the prison with golden bars, and then... and then she found the plants again.

The first sign came from weeds choking in one corner, surviving on a fistful of dirt and the ray of sunshine falling, warm and golden, on the ground. They were straggly and weak and closer to purple than green, but Niva's magic could feel the struggle to survive, the blooming life beneath the sunlight. She sent a stream of magic to help it grow, and resolved to return the next day.

After that, she saw plants everywhere. The dandelions carried on the wind, to fall in damp spaces; the duckweed tentatively spreading in one corner of a neglected pond. Academics. Too caught up in their impossible heights to think to look down and renew spells to prevent weeds. Niva was caught between disdain and glee at their forgetfulness, because there was color again.

Niva had always had a soft spot for weeds.

A week ago, after classes had ended, and the whorls of her fingers were dry from handling old books, she used to imagine tearing down Lightsbridges' walls. Niva no longer did so. The tendrils of ivy creeping stealthily from the ground to cling to old bricks were capable, certainly, but they probably wouldn't be too happy if she asked. She had found the means, she thought wryly, and had lost the motivation.

And Niva would not be happy, if they were not.


End file.
